


Maybe

by corvidae9



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, FenHawke is fleeting am i right, Hawke being Hawke, I had no idea I shipped this, WHO'S WITH ME, hot tipsy grabby hookups, i named my cat Varric, lazy mornings after, maybe i'm just a deviant, pre-FenHawke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-10-31 07:03:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10894200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corvidae9/pseuds/corvidae9
Summary: Hawke wakes up in an inn, tangled up in her best friend. So. Ok. As with most things, this has the potential to be hilarious. Right? Maybe?





	Maybe

**Author's Note:**

> I love Hawke/Varric as the epic bromance to end all epic bromances, even though my Hawke is female. but. Sometime in the last two weeks, I suddenly needed this to happen, and now my DA2 shipping is all broken... or should I say improved? :D There’s a little fast and loose handling of timelines, sorry about that. Also, my beta is the best beta. <3

###

 

There was light creeping into the room and beginning the assault of her eyelids, and Hawke was unhappy about it. It was coming from an unfamiliar angle, and she only felt a little like shite, so it was probably well into the middle of the day. A solid, extremely warm presence at her back and a pleasant ache in her hips reminded her she’d had far too much fun last night, and sweet Maker, she’d needed it. 

Hawke smiled, and patted the arm over her side, causing its owner to stir. The large hand attached to that arm splayed out on her stomach and began a slow, delicious slide upward. She hummed contentedly as the warm, solid mass leaned in and set full lips against the back of her scarred shoulder, that vaguely familiar hand pressing gently against her sternum and thus tugging her more fully flush to his chest.

“Morning, Princess,” came the voice she had been half-expecting from just behind the nape of her neck and Hawke’s eyes shot open. Shite. She’d finally, truly stepped in it.

_shite shite shite what the actual fuck had she done?_

 

###

 

Varric was the best friend she’d ever had and the best adventuring companion a girl could want; he was her reliable right hand man, not to mention her constant, best, most entertaining drinking companion, most likely to get them endless free drinks at any pub in Kirkwall with his outrageous ability to tell scandalous half-truths about their adventures. Most often she was playing the sound effects, the accompanying expressions, or supplying unnecessary commentary for comic effect, depending on the general flavor of the tale. It only became more outrageous as the evenings wore on, what with the ale and mead, and Maker knew what else people tended to buy them. 

Mostly these evenings ended with Hawke drunkenly singing crooked tunes while leaning on Varric on the way back home; letting him hold her up while supplying bawdy choruses and apologizing gamely to anyone who might take issue with their shenanigans. Mostly they ended with Varric shoving her through her door, Hawke laughing her ass off, grabbing him by the hand to twirl and bow sloppily, thanking him for the lovely evening, with Varric snorting a laugh and catching her, accepting a loud smacking kiss to the cheek or forehead and a declaration of Hawke’s undying love and kinship, returning it and letting her convince him to stay in a guest room while Hawke danced off to her own large, empty bed.

There were also rare nights where they would sit in her den and drink dark Antivan liquor and plot until nothing made sense, and then brood until someone decided it was bed time, or until her house staff of one found them senseless, roused them and sent them to their respective beds. 

Sometimes other friends joined their escapades, but at the end of the night it was always Hawke and Varric, either laughing raucously or brooding silently, together in the closest proximity, and then off their separate ways. Once Hawke was the one seeing Varric off to bed-- something about a letter from that stupid bint that had him started in on the wine long before he’d even made it to her door to begin the carousing. 

Of course there had also been nights spent on the road, nights so bitterly cold they’d have frozen if they hadn’t cuddled like children, along with Merrill or Isabella or any of a number of their companions. (There is in fact a cuddling story about Isabella that Varric has promised not to tell without changing names and important details to protect the not-so-innocent, but Hawke wouldn’t forget that one any time soon.) Nights where they slept half-naked thanks to the heat and humidity, and armor be damned. Varric had seen what Hawke had to offer and vice versa; it hadn’t changed their relationship.

This time, though. 

 

###

 

“Andraste’s tits,” muttered Hawke. Not that it stopped her from arching slightly into his touch and consequently into his hips, thus discovering that it most definitely morning in some sense.

“Mmmno. Just yours,” Varric said with a small laugh, adding in a conspicuously louder voice that felt as though he had tilted his head upwards to say it, “I’m sure Andraste’s tits were also very nice, though.” 

Hawke laughed a mad, throaty giggle that set Varric off as well. He leaned his forehead into the nape of her neck, and his laughter echoed through her body, setting off a curious ripple of fondness and desire. 

“So,” she said, patting his hand, before tentatively lacing her fingers through his low on her chest. “This happened.”

“It sure did,” he agreed, giving her hand a small squeeze. “Repeatedly. I can’t say I’m sorry, either.” this was Varric, and of course he sounded sure, smug and self-satisfied, but Hawke knew that voice. There was more than a touch of uncertainty and concern, and she felt oddly comforted that she wasn’t the only one.

“No, actually,” she said. “Neither can I.” She felt him relax slightly at that.

Hawke thought back, casting into the pool of ale-muddled memories for what exactly had happened here. 

 

###

 

_There was a very clear recollection of sitting on a table, hoisting a tankard and adding flavor to Varric’s tale of their having taken down an ogre in the Deep Roads. He’d stood for emphasis, vacating the spot on the bench next to her boot, and was extolling the extreme stench of the creature when a body landed in Varric’s erstwhile spot._

_“Hello, gorgeous,” said the blond in charge of the body, leaning an elbow on the table and grinning at her. He wasn’t too hard too look at, but his too-fine-for-this-place leathers were stained in peculiar ways and there was something about the way he was looking at her that was offputting. “Are even half the stories he tells about you true, or does he tell them just to try and get into your pants?”_

_This called for Distraction Plan B, since she wasn’t in the mood for Asskicking Plan A. Hawke leaned over her tankard and grinned lasciviously. “He doesn’t have to try very hard, Kitten,” she said with a raised eyebrow that held more than a hint of inappropriate suggestion._

_“Come on, Champion. Everyone knows you aren’t fucking the dwarf. You like to take home real men.” He tapped his tankard to hers and took a drink with a jovial smile. “More often than not. So how about it? I can be _very_ entertaining company.”_

_Hawke grimaced at him, partially impressed with how weirdly entitled his proposition had been, and partially horrified by the idea that ‘everyone’ in Kirkwall would know anything at all, and that one thing they might all know had to do with her. Before she could answer however, Varric’s arm was around her waist-- he’d come to stand next to the table upon which she was perched as he told the punchline to this particular story. He rested his hand with all familiarity on her hip, shooting her a quick glance to make sure they were alright, and bellowed while gesturing with the other hand holding his drink._

_“And this one. She looks at that ugly, rank beast that’s baring his teeth at her while she’s _dangling_ by one foot some eight--ten! feet off of the ground and says, “Tell your mother I said hello,” and just _folds_ in half and stabs it in the eye! While it’s holding her, of course. So the damned thing, it roars, this-- deep, crashing, guttural sound, claps its hand to its face, and Hawke goes flying along with it-- and yet! Instead of crashing into his face, too, she just scrambles up his arm like a damned monkey, and yells, ‘Varric! Catch’ and vaults off of it, right at me!” _

_“What’d you do?” asked a tradesman of some kind who was listening intently from the next table over._

_“I caught her of course,” Varric said with a shrug. “She flattened me out in the process but--” He gave her hip a squeeze at the roar of laughter and looked up at her. “I mean, who’s complaining?”_

_“That ogre really _should_ have visited his mother more often,” Hawke said with a smirk and a deep, theatrical sigh. She met Varric’s gaze and clanked her tankard to his, only partially feigning deep admiration for her best friend. “And it’s just rude to gloat about how much larger you are than your opponent.” One deep swallow and the contents of her mug were all gone. Again. There was another cheer._

_A serving girl brought them two fresh tankards of ale, courtesy of the tradesman, and they happily traded her their empty mugs._

_“Did you want do something about this guy?” Varric asked under his breath._

_Hawke laughed and hopped down lightly from the table, making sure to thank the tradesman. “Eh. He’s just angling for a shag,” she said just as quietly, looking over her shoulder briefly to see that he was still staring at her. “Creepily, but I’m not going to worry about it.” She and Varric stood companionably hip to hip at the end of the table, and she leaned her forearm on his strong, solid shoulder._

 

###

 

“Aw, hell. This is harder than I thought,” Varric said. Hawke finally turned her head to turn her huge, overly-pleased grin in his direction.

“I know. It’s right up against--”

“Alright, alright smart ass,” he said with a tiny shake. He had pointedly not let go of her. 

“Well, it is,” Hawke said, still grinning, and being Hawke, she felt the need- nay! the duty! to grind against him a little. “I am observant.”

“Ass,” he said with more than a whine. “That’s not friendly.”

“Yeah it is,” she said with a shrug. She executed a quick turn so that she was lying on her back, holding his hand in place somewhere near over her heart. “Right? It’s both my ass, and it’s just friendly,” she said with a shrug, “I’m not _her_.”

“Aw hell, Hawke, you had to g--” he said, eyes distant. He sighed and tried to pull away but she didn’t let him. 

“No! Stop that shit. I mean that. I do,” and she realized she really did. “You are my brother in arms. My right hand. My loyal first mate!” She shuddered a little for effect, and he looked up at her with that sideways glance that said he was humoring her. “Ugh, except forget that brother part, though. Mother may claim that we have some noble blood but we’re not royalty.” She wiggled her fingers. “The right hand part is especially accurate now, though.”

“Now I’m really calling you ‘Princess’,” he said with a faint smile, shifting his glance to their still-twined hands, but not actually looking at her. Hawke shifted again to face him, but finding that she missed the full contact between them, lost no time in hooking her knee around his thigh. There was some sort of morning-after magic happening here, and she absolutely wanted to prolong it. Hawke ducked her head and forcibly caught his eye, giving him her sweetest, most ingratiating smile.

“Do it where anyone else can hear and I will end you, Tethras.”

That did it. Varric grinned, finally shifting his arm to wrap around her instead. Hawke made a satisfied noise when he dared to drop it tentatively on the curve of her ass. 

“Promises, promises.”

 

###

_“Now I’m curious, though--” said the same blond guy in the nice-but-creepy leathers. Hawke had already forgotten about him, and two drinks later, had initiated a loose-group-and-three-table-wide philosophical discussion on which bunch of assholes should have their ass kicked first: the templars or the mages. The mages were winning on general principle, it seemed, but Meredith had soured general opinion on the templars, and so it was closer than it might have been five or so years back. “Why not the dwarf? He’s with you everywhere you go.”_

_“Your chances of being stabbed by me are far higher than those of being fucked by me at this point,” said Hawke, slowly and carefully as she and Varric both swung their heads to look at him. “If I were you, I would walk away slowly and be glad I’m not in the mood to break things.” Hawke turned her attention away again, while Varric shrugged at him._

_“I’d take the hint,” he said and turned his attention back to the conversation at hand. The guy muttered a string of uninspired epithets as he stomped away, though the effect was likely not at all expected, as Hawke and Varric shrugged, then took it upon themselves to mock him soundly, loudly, and without mercy._

_“If only I had a drink for every shitbag that called me a ‘bitch’,” said Hawke, clutching at her chest. “My heart! My honor! I shall die. Avenge me, Varric!”_

_Varric sat dramatically on the bench, hands out. “No! How will I stand the insult! I am a little man! I can’t help you now, Hawke!”_

_“Perhaps this good serrah will assist me and point out more of my flaws!” Hawke called after the blond man’s retreating and inexplicably shrinking form. “Perhaps I shall repent them and join the chantry!”_

_“And perhaps,” added Varric, “He will find his testicles one day, and I will grow taller in the Light, and you will be cured of your tendencies more suited to those of female mabari, and we will all live happily ever after!”_

_By now, other patrons were laughing, pointing, and throwing bread crusts, and the suitor was forced to make a full retreat right out the main doors. Hawke sighed and smiled, her expression reverting to her natural smirk. At least she hadn’t had to maim or kill anyone today._

_“It’s a fair question though,” Hawke suddenly said, as though this conversation were just a continuation of the last. “I’m a reasonably attractive asshole; you seem to like reasonably attractive assholes. You’re a sexy, yet deadly, gentleman, I like sexy, deadly gentlemen. We spend all of our time together. Why exactly do we not shag?”_

_“I don’t know, Hawke.” Varric grinned and made a show of ogling her from head to foot. “You are more than reasonably attractive, I’ve got to admit. And I’m definitely irresistible. It may remain the greatest mystery of our time.”_

_That look did a little more for Hawke that she thought it might. This was after all, a man that had carried her home, undressed her, and dropped her into bed merely as a courtesy several times over their long association; a man she had introduced to any winsome dwarven women she met hoping he’d take at least one of them to bed for his own sake; one she’d caught laughing into his bedroll while Isabella found ways to keep her hands warm that involved Hawke’s body and her lip had nearly bitten through. So. Why was she just now, suddenly a puddle of warmth that radiated from her lady parts? It had indeed been a while, was her only excuse._

_“We could remedy that, you know.”_

_The words were out of her mouth before she’d properly considered them, but there they were nonetheless, and she was not going to back away from them. She was_ Hawke _, for fuck’s sake. She raised an eyebrow at Varric and slowly, mischievously, made a show of looking him up and down as well. It was kind of ridiculous and unnecessary-- this was Varric after all; Hawke knew what he looked like, and she had to admit that she did indeed enjoy looking at him._

_Hawke’s baser instincts may have been leading the charge, but it took no time at all to realize that this was a thing she was more than interested in doing._

 

###

 

“So what’s with this shy shit now, Mr. _Morning, Princess_?” said Hawke after a few minutes of silence, typically blunt.

Varric shrugged. “It seemed right at the time,” he ventured. “No use spoiling a good morning with a beautiful woman in your arms with ‘shit shit shit, what the actual fuck did you do?’ out loud.”

Hawke loosed yet another throaty giggle and leaned into him. This is why they were inseparable: matching thought patterns and nonstop hilarity. Not to mention the ability to keep each other alive.

“Let me guess. You had the same thought,” he added, and she nodded fervently into his neck.

“And then some,” she said. “But this is alright, though?” It was part statement, part question. 

“Depending on the part you ask, I’m probably a little more than alright?” Varric said, stupid grin evident in his tone.

“Excellent,” said Hawke, her mouth on his skin. “So why are you still wound so tight?”

 

###

 

_Varric’s eyebrows were raised as far as they went._

_“Are you propositioning me, Hawke?”_

_“Damn straight,” Hawke agreed, and throwing caution to the wind, as she was wont to do, plopped herself into his lap. “I think this could be highly entertaining.”_

_Finding himself suddenly with a lapful of Hawke, Varric was torn. Deeply. On the one hand, his heart was not available, but she knew that; on the other hand, his lap was definitely available, and her ass was filling it rather nicely, and maybe it was the wine talking but--_

_“Hello? Your eyes are somewhat glazed over,” said Hawke with an ungodly wiggle that underscored that second point. Still this was _Hawke_ ; his best friend. His _human_ best friend, who, while undeniably attractive, was a little too large, and a little too--_

_“Varric? Maker, have I killed you?” Hawke ducked her head sideways to peer into his eyes and gave his cheek a rough pat. “You appear to be breathing, but whenever you stop talking, I worry.” Varric realized that his hands had drifted around her as though they belonged there, and he refocused his attention on her._

_“This is-- maybe a conversation we should have with fewer pints put away,” he said lamely. Hawke performed some catlike maneuver that put her squarely in an indecent straddle, one of her feet on the bench behind him, the other dangling, and he could not deny that his basic biology was rather insistently accepting of the suitability of her proposition._

_“That’s all you’ve got, Master Storyteller?” she asked with a wry smirk. “Because I’ve got a shiny gold coin that says you haven’t had a shag in years without at least twice what’s in you now.”_

_“Maybe, but what’s your excuse?” he asked in return. “I don’t want you waking up tomorrow with a hangover so bad you seem to recall sleeping with your favorite dwarf.”_

_“Look at me,” said Hawke, not giving him any chance to look away, since her hands were now on the sides of his face. “Do I look too drunk to make this decision? Am I too drunk to stumble home?”_

_Varric peered at her and sighed, a sound incongruous with his hands, currently kneading her hips. “No. But--”_

_“Oi! Get a room over there!” came a voice from somewhere outside the three foot radius that now contained a very interested Varric and a very intent Hawke. Though mostly ignored, it gave Hawke the best of ideas._

_“But nothing,” she said, dropping her hands to his neck and shoulder, nosing the side of his face. “Let me take you upstairs. Let’s see how this would go.”_

_“Um, excuse me, sers, but--” came the serving girl’s voice from somewhere behind her. Hawke wasted no time shoving her coin purse of drinking/bribing money blindly at her._

_“Could you direct me to your nicest available room?” Hawke asked, though her wicked grin did not leave Varric. “Us?”_

_There was almost an audible ‘click’ when he finally cracked a grin at her along with half a headshake. That one expression-- the one that said she was doing something truly stupid, but he was too entertained to not follow. “Definitely us.”_

 

###

 

“Listen,” Hawke said into Varric’s skin, idly stroking his broad chest and running her foot along his calf because why the hell not. “While I’ve got you here, I figure--”

“Hawke,” Varric said reasonably with a warning eyebrow, though his body language was putting out all manner of signs that read ‘yesplease’. “I’m not saying it isn’t a good idea, but are you sure about this? Half-drunk is one thing--”

“No,” Hawke tried again as she flexed and shoved him onto his back in order to actually straddle him, figuring it was time to move on to other senses if ‘listen’ wasn’t working. “We’re already here, and we’ve already done this a number of times. And I wasn’t that drunk to begin with. And! You said you didn’t want to ruin a good morning, right?” Hawke grinned evilly, wriggling her hips against his. “So, a nice morning shag is a good way of saying ‘thanks’ to the nice lass you’ve drooled on all evening, am I right?”

Varric’s eyes were halfway rolled up in his head, though whether it was for Hawke’s questionable line of reasoning or her well-muscled posterior bouncing against his very interested manhood was anyone’s guess. Hawke was going to go ahead and guess it was her ass, because her reasoning was fucking flawless.

“Generally, yes,” he choked out, clearing his throat even as he gripped her thighs. “Though this is a totally unfair.” Hawke lifted her hips up, shifting her weight onto the knees around him and slid ever so slightly downward. The tiniest adjustment to the angle of her hips set his incredibly hard cock up against, and almost into, her warm center, and he swore under his breath. 

“In all seriousness, Varric, I adore you,” she said in a no-nonsense tone, even as she ground down ever so slightly using a sinuous motion of just her abdominal muscles. “Even when you are slow in comprehending that this is still going to be alright. Fucking me stupid one more time is not going to change that.” Hawke grinned and repeated the motion. “I’m not going to take any more liberties with your person, though, because consent is key here and far be it from me to--”

Varric cut her off with a growl as he shifted his grip to her ass and pulled her down onto him, driving into her easily and without fail. Hawke’s fingers twisted in the sheet over his shoulder and her eyes shut with a guttural groan, mouth open. She licked her lips and refocused on him, smirking.

“So that’s a yes,” she said. “I just want to be cle--”

He repeated the motion, shifting his left hand to wrap around her back and tug her downward until she was close enough to kiss. 

“That’s a yes,” he said with some difficulty, but Hawke was enjoying it nonetheless. 

“Then fucking get to it,” she said, her lips close enough to his that they touched on every other syllable. Varric took advantage of her lowered center of mass to roll her and exchange places. Hawke gasped a breath that became another guttural sound of pleasure as he drove into her again. With one hand on the bed, he used the hand behind her back to lift her rib cage toward him and captured a nipple in his mouth. Hawke sunk the fingers of her right hand into his hair and all but squealed, and Varric eyed her with a predatory smirk of his own.

“Now you’ve done it, Princess.”

Hawke was pleased with this development. So very pleased.

 

###

_The girl had led them up the narrow staircase to the room floor, jingling a ring of keys._

_“This is the best room we have,” she said, opening the door at the far end. Hawke didn’t worry about what that said about how many coins had been in the purse she’d handed over. Dragging Varric to bed was apparently worth it._

_“Excellent, thank you so much,” said Hawke quickly as she entered the room and gave it a perfunctory look around. “Well, good night, miss,” she added, rounding on and closing the door on the poor, put-upon girl._

_“If you’re interested, there’ll be bread and tea in the morning!” The girl cried through the door. Hawke might have otherwise answered, but Varric was already pinning her to the wall beside the door, sliding a hand up her shirt as they kissed._

_“Mmmph,” Hawke tried. The girl’s feet scurried away as Hawke unbuckled her belts and struggled out of her shirt. “Hi,” she said after the extended snog, panting for a breath, but still filled with cheerful snark. “This is definitely the best idea I’ve ever had.”_

_“It might be,” Varric answered, letting her shove his hastily-unbuttoned shirt off of his shoulders. “That’s still not saying a lot, though.”_

_Hawke laughed and gave him a shove towards the bed, only to keep laughing as he nearly tripped on his unbuckled trousers._

_“Serves you right, almost dying on the way to bed, with all the work I had to do to get you here,” she said, dropping without reservation to her knees to help rid him of the nuisance. Or at least, that was the original idea. Probably._

_“Fuck,” he breathed, practically swallowing the first consonant. “Hawke, Maker’s balls, some warning.”_

_Hawke would have laughed again, but circumstances being what they were..._

 

###

 

“I’m not sorry they brought up the water,” said Hawke, currently lolling in said device, across from Varric, who was doing the same. It was a relatively large tub, but only a tub nonetheless, so their legs were set up in a complicated knot, with Hawke’s ankles at Varric’s hips, her feet and toes straying along his side and around his back, his feet resting partially under her bottom.

“To be fair, neither am I,” he said. “And this arrangement does save the cost of getting them to bring up another tub worth of hot water.” Varric flicked water in her general direction. “What are the chances though, of the serving girl coming up to ask if we were wanting the bath filled while you were busily, loudly repeating, 'Maker, Yes'?"

Hawke laughed hard and kicked him gently in the ribs. “I don’t know. Chances were pretty damned good there for a long while.”

“That’s true enough,” he said, catching her foot and running a thumb along the top of it. Hawke made a sound of approval and shut her eyes again as she sunk a little lower into the water.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Hawke said after a minute, though her eyes were still shut. 

“Like what?” Varric said, indeed watching her with a serious expression. 

“Like, I don’t know. Like you’re worrying,” she said, cracking an eyelid to peer at him. “Stop worrying.” She reached for the large mug of cider that had been delivered along with the bath and took a long pull.

Varric sighed and patted her foot, making gestures of concession with the other hand. “Alright, alright. I’ll stop.”

“Good. Because we _are_ good. This is good. All of--” she waved her hand in a vague motion between them and then around the room, “--this. Dear sweet Andraste’s frilly knickers, was so good.” It was Varric’s turn to laugh. 

“It was,” he agreed companionably. “Is.”

She held her mug out to him. “Damn straight.”

He took it, drank deeply, then reached out to set the mug on the adjacent sideboard, and finally relaxed.

 

###  
###

 

When Hawke originally met Fenris, Varric honestly wasn’t sure who was going to try and kill the other first. He did however figure that Hawke easily had the advantage, since Varric wouldn’t hesitate to put a bolt between the elf’s eyes or shoulderblades on her behalf. Then it turned out he was a capable ally, if a little psychotic, and Varric found that he was fascinating... not to mention prime protagonist material for an upcoming book. 

At first, Varric watched Fenris fight viciously to end Hawke’s enemies, and somehow that shifted over time to fighting viciously _for_ Hawke. An unusual, unexpected thing happened-- something Varric had kind of expected with Blondie (though that kid was maybe a little too off-kilter for Hawke in the end, which was saying something). It turned out that Fenris’ analog in Varric’s new book was wildly popular across the Free Marches, too-- apparently brooding anti-heroes really were all the rage.

Varric watched as Hawke crept into Fenris’ squat and kept vigil with him. He saw her eyes shift when she talked about him, or when Varric started including him in their wild adventure tales. Varric knew exactly what was happening, maybe even before Hawke did. Honestly, she was probably better off with neither Broody nor Blondie, but he strangely didn’t get much of a say. Hawke did like her merchandise somewhat broken, after all. 

So instead, one night he decided to invite Fenris along on their planned shenanigans for the evening. Fenris had looked surprised, but had come along nonetheless. Ever since they’d settled in a good spot near the fire in the thick of all of the patrons, though, Fenris hadn’t stopped glaring at Varric. Especially when Hawke laid a hand anywhere near him. Varric recognized that this was outside normal behavior, even for Fenris, and he didn’t want to make life harder for Hawke than it needed to be.

“Hey, Broody,” Varric said. “Come with me to acquire a fresh round of drinks? Looks like the serving girl’s got her hands full.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes at Varric. He’d made his displeasure with the nickname known, but he had never complained again since, and honestly, if Varric just stopped using nicknames because people complained, he’d never use them. Slowly, Fenris stood with a delayed nod and followed Varric to the grotty bar. Varric piled empty tankards on the scarred surface, placed an order, and wasted no time in saying what he’d meant to say.

“Listen--” Varric said, looking up to find Fenris glaring at him. “Nothing’s going on between me and Hawke, you know that, right?”

“I find that hard to believe,” Fenris said, under his breath, barely restrained. 

“Try harder,” Varric deadpanned.

“You’ve had her,” Fenris practically spat.

At that, Varric snorted a laugh. “No one _has_ her, dimwit. You’re a lot like her in that respect.”

Fenris glared at him some more. “You understand my meaning, dwarf.”

“Fine, I do, and I have, and that’s not much of a secret,” Varric acknowledged unflinchingly. Fenris narrowed his eyes, fist clenched, and for a moment Varric worried that he’d fucked it up for Hawke, so he did what he did best-- he kept talking. “But I will also tell you that she’s my closest compatriot in this world, and we’ve spent years attached to one another, so… we’re a package deal in a sense.” He shrugged. “Things happen.”

Fenris continued to glare. Oddly, Varric could suddenly see the attraction.

“And that, Broody, is why I’m telling you to not fuck it up with her,” Varric said, handing Fenris his newly-full mug as well as Hawke’s. “I’ve never seen her really, truly give a shit about someone quite like she gives a shit about you. I mean, you know Hawke. She gives a shit about people and things she probably shouldn’t even begin to give a shit about while pretending she doesn’t. But you’re different.”

Now it was a confused glare. Good. That meant he was listening.

“She’s trying so hard to gain your trust, and I gotta tell you. No one I know is more worthy of it. So,” he made a dismissing gesture in her direction. “Give her back her drink, tell her she’s pretty and that you like her knives, let her make some fucking terrible jokes and maybe grope you a little, and give her a chance.” He left out that he still wasn’t terribly sure that Fenris was worthy of Hawke’s affections, but if Varric didn’t enable her bad decisions, who would?

The confused glare moved to Hawke, who was in the middle of an expansive gesture that made the assorted patrons around her laugh hard. She still managed to feel it, look up and flash a grin. At Fenris. Varric smiled back anyway with a tiny nod as she went back to her story. 

“I--” said Fenris, looking at the mugs in his hand, perhaps not actually glaring for once. “May have been hasty in my judgement.”

Varric didn’t ask for clarification. He just nodded. “Maybe a little.”

Fenris looked at Varric, still wary, but not overtly hostile. “Thank you.”

“Just doing my job, Broody,” Varric said, risking a pat to Fenris’ shoulder before wandering off in the opposite direction as Fenris made his way back to Hawke. He did love Hawke, he just couldn’t be what she deserved. His true heart, his deepest longing, was somewhere else and apparently was there to stay, no matter what he did or who he did it with. So be it. Someone should have something go right in this accursed city, and as far as he was concerned that person should be Hawke. 

“That was exceedingly kind of you, Master Tethras,” came a smooth, dark honeyed voice with a familiar accent from behind him. Varric grinned hugely. 

“What can I say?” he said. “I’m a giver.”

“Mmm,” said the person in the shapeless cloak, who was sidling up to him. “I would have kept Hawke to myself.” 

“You probably should have tried, Rivaini,” Varric said, taking a nonchalant sip from his mug. 

“With Hawke? Oh no,” Isabella smiled. “She’s a pretty thing, but she wasn’t interested.”

“She seemed deeply interested on that mountain,” said Varric, and Isabella smiled. 

“ _Deeply_ ,” Isabella agreed with a smirk. “But it was fleeting and the world is large. What’s your excuse?”

“Come again?” he asked.

“You,” she said with a curt nod. “Why didn’t you keep her to yourself?”

“Ah,” he sighed. “Long story. I’m good where we are.”

“Truly?” she asked. 

“Not that I’m unhappy to see you, but why are you here, anyway?” Varric deflected.

“Strictly recruitment,”Isabella answered, choosing not to pursue the question. “I need able bodies and capable gunhands. Interested?”

Varric shook his head. “I wasn’t made for shipboard life. But thanks for thinking of me.” It was Isabella’s turn to sigh. 

“I swear. Finding crew has been more of a challenge in this hellhole than I’d imagined.”

Varric looked over where Fenris had rejoined Hawke, watching as she put a hand on his arm, as Fenris looked from her hand to her face, his expression one of eternal confusion.

“I hear that,” he murmured, downed his drink and nudged Isabella. “Come on. I’m buying the next round.”


End file.
